The Holding and the Release
by gethsemane342
Summary: She can't stop herself from glancing back at her father. He stands there, watching her. His arms are wrapped around himself in a mirror image of hers. Oneshot, considering why Elsa has her nervous habit.


**Disclaimer: _I do not own _Frozen**

**Rating: **for mentions of death and some injury.

**A/n:** Because it suddenly occurred to me that Elsa's nervous habit, when described in a certain way, and considered with a certain scene, could actually be one of the saddest character tics I have ever seen.

_Review reply to Anonymous__: Thanks for the lovely review. Not sure I quite understand the question but I've never put much thought into the grammatical correctness of mirroring. However, not sure why arms can't mirror arms - you wouldn't be able to tell which was the reflection necessarily but, technically speaking, you can look in a mirror and see your arms. Shall have to think about it a bit more (sadly, mirror reflections never come up in my job)._

The Holding and the Release

When she is thirteen, she accidentally blockades herself in her room. Her father, wonderfully patient as always, hacks through the ice while she sobs. Once done, they stand there and stare at each other.

"Are you OK?" he says softly. His hands twitch.

She watches his firm frame and those hands, and looks at the remnants of the ice.

"Yes," she sniffs, crossing her arms over her body.

His hands continue to twitch. "Good."

* * *

_A wall covered in ice._

"_I'm scared," she says, hating the high pitch her voice takes._ _"It's getting stronger."_

* * *

Elsa doesn't feel the cold but she does feel the icicle tearing at her skin when it falls. She screams but no one hears because her room is so out of the way. The snow continues and she has to stop screaming because if a servant or a guard comes in then everyone will know and then bad things will happen and conceal don't feel but how can she do that when it won't stop _bleeding_?

Ice coats her arm and the bleeding slows. She moves her good arm across herself as she sobs, hoping a parent will come in because she can't go out _there_.

The door slams open and her mother runs in, her face turning as pale as the snow storm raging in the room. But she can't touch Elsa, can only watch with teeth ripping at lips as she instructs her daughter on how to stitch her own arm. At the end of it, the queen's arms and hands are tangled in front of her as though about to begin a strange dance.

"You should lie down," she says and Elsa can hear the sob that she refuses to release.

"Yes, Mother."

"I … I'll get something else to numb the pain. I'll be back soon, OK, Elsa?"

Elsa lies on the frosty bed. The door opens and closes softly.

Her bad arm is crooked across her chest. Numbly, she places lips to the stitches and then brings her other arm to cross the first one.

"Well done for being so brave, Elsa," she whispers.

* * *

"_Getting upset only makes it worse." He holds his arms out towards her, to hold her. "Calm down."_

* * *

Her father sees her looking out of the window. He stands near her and peers out as well. Outside, oblivious to her audience, Anna rolls snow into a ball.

"She didn't ask this year."

"I know." A pause. "I'm sorry."

She does not take her eyes off Anna. "Does she name them, do you know?"

A second of silence. "I don't think so." Another pause. "Is there something she should be calling them?"

"No." She should be silent but instead, she says, "It's just, we used to. Before."

"Oh." He doesn't move. "What kind of names?"

"Normal ones. The last one was called Olaf. He liked warm hugs."

Now she looks at him. When he turns his head to face her, there is so much sadness there that she instantly regrets her words.

"I think we all like those," he says softly and she can't take it. She backs away from the window, leaving him there. But before she exits the hallway, she can't stop herself from glancing back.

He stands there, watching her. His arms are wrapped around himself in a mirror image of hers.

* * *

"_No! Don't touch me!" She flinches away, holding her hands high. "Please," she says quietly. "I don't want to hurt you."_

* * *

She curtsies. "Do you have to go?"

Her father leans forward slightly and says in his calm way, "You'll be fine, Elsa."

One week later, they tell her that her parents are dead. Kai and Gerda, so much more than servants, hug Anna as she sobs.

As Elsa slinks away, Gerda says, "Princess Elsa. Maybe … maybe you should stay with us."

She can feel the affection seeping from the older woman and the warmth with which she holds Anna. "Thank you, Gerda. But I … I think I should be alone."

"No one should be alone for something like this, Princess."

But she has already turned away, walked away, her arms already holding her together. After all, Gerda can't comfort her. No one can.

* * *

_Her father flinches back. Alarmed sadness crosses her parents' faces and at that moment she knows that no one will ever hold her again_.

_**Fin**_


End file.
